Trying to solve the mystery of the disappearing mobile phone

A week ago today the weather was fine, and after half an afternoon in the garden it was suggested that the end of the day should be marked by outdoor refreshments.

We had one, a gin and tonic in my case, and then we had another: and then we went indoors to prepare a spot of pre-DVD supper – and later, before we hit the "start" button, I pulled out my mobile and looked up our former MP Bob Maclennan’s number.

No reply. So then we watch the film. And then we go to bed.

"Can’t find my council mobile anywhere…"

"Have you tried all your pockets? Are you sure you had it last night?"

"Yes I did – I looked up Bob’s number. Definitely."

"Could it be in the car?"

"No no – I didn’t go anywhere in the car. I mean I couldn’t possibly, after two G&Ts."

That was Saturday 18th of April – and if you take the above conversation and copy and paste it into the next two days, well that was what we talked about: the mysterious disappearance of the council mobile.

"How much did you drink in the garden?"

"No no – dash it, I was perfectly sober!"

Clearly I was getting tetchier. All the same I did search the garden – but then, I know that later on in the kitchen, I had looked up Bob’s number. Really I had. Argh! The whole thing is bonkers. And, doing what I do, it is seriously un-clever to lose your mobile during an election campaign.

On the Saturday we tried calling the mobile, waiting for a ringing tone, and then listening for it.

Nothing.

Ditto in the garden a few minutes later. By Tuesday it had obviously gone flat: all I could now hear was my own voice asking constituents to email me or try my home number. That was when I threw the towel in and called the Highland Council IT helpline. At the time of writing this column, exactly one week later, I await the delivery of a replacement mobile.

"It’s all my own fault – I know I’ll have to pay for it."

"Yes, Councillor Stone, you may well have to."

It is so annoying, quite put me wrong in fact. All the missed calls, all the unanswered text messages. What can people think?

And then – OMG! – the loss of the entire address book. In recent years I have got into the habit of putting numbers and contact details into the mobile, and what is still written in the address section of my diary is a mere fraction of what has been lost. This is going to be a big problem.

Could it be that Vodafone has some way or retrieving the address book? OK, the old mobile and the sim card inside it (in the compost heap? Under the floorboards? Down the loo?) are now dead, but every time I texted or made a call, might not the ether, or MI5, or the CIA still have some cunning record of it? I mean, if Al-Qaeda chuck their mobiles in the furnace, does that really mean that intelligence services cannot get hold of information about their calls and telephone numbers?

Really?

I wonder. But it’ll all be secret stuff – and probably absolutely not available to a Highland councillor. Or can Vodafone do something for me? By the time you read this piece, I shall have found out.

But where can the damned thing have gone? It is so strange.

A bit like some corner of a parallel universe, where all my missing odd socks are – and the book about a green railway engine, that I so very much loved when I was seven, and lost, and never found again. Or the one gold cufflink that my wife gave me when we got married (I still have the other).

"Och, just wear non-matching cufflinks. No-one ever looks to check, and you never know, you might even start a new fashion!"

"Anyway, I bet the old one turns up as soon as you get the new mobile. It’s always like that."

My wife is usually right. This time I sincerely hope so.

Next week I’ll try to write a less dotty column.

But it’s all very stressful, you understand.

I’m going for a lie down.

---

Do you want to respond to this article? If so, click here to submit your thoughts and they may be published in print.

---